Along Came A Spider
by Not much a poet
Summary: Sequel to Balance. Rated for graphic content. The serial killer Spider has come back, and Lisa's lost in Dragontown. Inspired by and involving Alice Cooper more or less . Please R&R xxx


I wince at the pain as the sharp shingle on the ground threatens to slice through the thin soles of my shoes

**A/N****: **** Lisa's POV. This continues on from 'Balance' (which, at the time of writing this, isn't finished, so I guess this is a spoiler) (and if you haven't read it yet, then the biggest spoiler is that Lisa changed her identity, to Regine Addams). **

**I've read my book, and I then decided that I was bored (bad move in the eyes of all the people that have told me before how sick some of my earlier work was). So, I listened to a lot of Alice Cooper albums (Dragontown, Brutal Planet, Billion Dollar Babies, Welcome To My Nightmare, and Along Came A Spider all heavily influencing this particular fic), and now he's taken over the creative side of my mind (which can be good OR bad, depending on what kind of a person you are). However, if you really want to understand it, you need to either be a big Cooper fan, or at least read the lyrics and the concept of those albums previously stated (there's a list of influential songs at the bottom of the fic). So I'll say this once again; those weak of stomach or faint of heart may wish to simply look away at this point, but to all you other lovers of extreme horror (and all things disturbing, and… basically anything that the big man himself would be proud of), here you go; one slice of creative and bored mind à la Not Much A Poet. Enjoy! **

I wince at the pain as the sharp shingle on the ground threatens to slice through the thin soles of my shoes.

The air around me is cold and misty, but chokes my lungs as if humid. I'm alone and lost, wandering aimlessly through a deserted street which I haven't seen before. Everything around me is alien; the sights, the smells, the overall atmosphere…

I look around. It's like I've been plucked out of my busy and familiar city, and put into some Japanese fairytale that only Anne Rice could have written. There are a few small houses planted on the sides of the street, all with their doors and windows closed. Dark puddles dot the road like shadowy footprints, and in the far distance, I can see fields full of vegetation (which, on closer inspection, are mainly all dead). The sky looms above as murky and menacingly as it would if it was a tank of septic acid, just waiting to tip down on any unsuspecting victims that cross its path. Two main things stick out to me, however. The first is how ominous the silence is, when surely there should be at least a little noise from the people inside the buildings. The other is the overpowering stench that coats the village around me. The only way to describe it would be…well, rotting; it's the same smell that would come from month-old road kill, the same that acts as a tempting dinner invitation for flies and their maggots alike.

Suddenly, I get a bizarre wave of both curiosity and danger. I start walking down the street. I still find it strange how it appears that there is no one around, even though the town looks like it is still fresh from life earlier today. I look at my watch to see what time it is, to determine whether everyone would be asleep in their beds or not. When I look down, however, I find that it has stopped… Typical. I think back to the time that I last looked at a clock (which was around 7 o'clock PM). Surely not _everyone_ would be sleeping at this time of night?

Curiosity streams through me again, and I turn to the nearest house on my left. It's dark, but I know that it is made from old wood (possibly this is the source of the 'rotting' that I can smell?). Though I know that it isn't good etiquette, I reach for the door handle and slowly open it (in fear of disturbing whoever may or may not be in there). As I do, I get a waft of deliciously-cooking meat. Beef, perhaps? The aroma starts to melt away any feelings of danger, and now invites me in with its homely feel; there is no way that this is where the rotting is coming from.

With a smile, I open the rest of the door. As I step inside, I notice that I am greeted by… nothing…nobody… This house, too, is completely deserted… But if it is…then… why is the meat cooking?... Who is cooking it, because, well… it can't cook on its own…

I walk around, trying to find the house's owner (or at least the cook).

'Hello?' I cry out, but I get no answer.

That feeling of danger falls over me again.

I go over to the stove. There is a frying pan set firmly on top, and the cooking meat sits in it. The smell coming from it is delicious, and whoever is cooking it must indeed be a very good chef…

Then I realise that I probably wouldn't like to meet this 'chef'; on closer inspection to the food, I see familiar characteristics… the same which I had been hunting down mere moments ago… I look around again, feeling severely frightened. There is a bundle in the corner of the room next to the stove, and it looks like this is the remains of the meat. Though I know that it is rude to go through other people's possessions, I can't help myself but start to look through the bundle. The 'beef' has been cut up, leaving a nice puddle of blood dripping on the floor. The mess is unrecognisable, but the cloth that it is bundled up in isn't so messed-up (aside from the fact that the blood has soaked through it). The cloth looks like a shirt, a smart business one of that… and there is also another piece… slacks? The material of the shirt is ripped like someone had cut through it with a knife…

This is ridiculous… Who am I kidding? I've just walked into a cannibal's house, and he is cooking someone I know…

This has to be a dream… no, a nightmare… Even though I hated the now-victim, I know that it isn't good, and that I should probably be getting out of there… and shame on me for thinking that it smelled good enough to eat…

Before anything happens to me, I flee silently from the house and into the street outside, back where I started…

Maybe I shouldn't have, but the same feelings wash over me again, and I suddenly find myself battling with them as I stand at the next door along. In the end, curiosity wins over fear; after all, what were the chances of _two_ cannibal households in one street? I reach for the door handle, and carefully open it. There goes that putrid smell again, and back comes the fright as I'm faced by the family inside.

They are all sitting at the dinner table, all five of them. It appears that there are three adults; husband, wife, and one of their mothers. Two children, a boy and a girl, sit together also. It seems like they haven't noticed me, so I slowly close the door again without a sound. That other important detail about the street undesirably back; silence. Not one of the people inside were making a sound, and it wasn't as if they were in prayer, because their eyes were all open. Come to think of it, there wasn't much movement coming from any of them either…

Worriedly, not just for me but for them, I open the door once again. They are still in the same positions, all sitting upright like they are posed for a photograph or something. No one blinks, no one even shows any signs of noticing me at all. Perhaps… perhaps they are mannequins… Of course they were, what else would they be?

I stop for a moment to admire how realistic they look, before turning back and exiting the same way that I came in.

That is, if I could.

Clichéd as it is, I find that the door is suddenly locked, and as I stop trying the handle, each lamp in the room slowly goes out, one by one. I try to keep up with them, so that I might see what the cause was in the increasingly dim light. Unfortunately, I'm not quick enough, and fail to reach my goal. The only thing that I can make out is the faint sound of footsteps on the cold floor; faint footsteps that want to appear silent. I can't tell who it is, but remembering what I'd already encountered today, I probably don't _want_ to know… Realising this, I start to back into the wall not far behind me. I'm glad to say that I hit the wall instead of whoever else was in the room, but it gives me little relief.

The room is once again silent for a few moments, before I hear a match being lit. All that I can see now is the flame, the wooden stick, and the tips of the holders thumb and index finger. They go over to a lamp on the far side of the room, and once it is lit, the match is blown out. I back further into the wall. Then, I hear the footsteps again, this time, coming towards me. The closer they come, the more I crush my back into the cold wooden wall behind me… And vice versa. Pretty soon, I've gone back as far as I can, but the footsteps keep coming forward. Just as the shadowy silhouette stops (mere inches away from me), it speaks;

'So how did you like my little piece of artwork back there?'

The tone is venomous, yet… familiar.

Then it occurs to me;

'You…' I spit. All my questions are now answered; _he_ was the one who brought me here, _he_ was the one that was cooking, _he_ was the one who set up the mannequins, _he_…

'So you caught me…' he mutters. With that, he closes the gap between us, grips my throat, and pushes me even further into the wall. It's painful, and I'm trying with everything I've got to get away, but his grip is like an iron vice. My eyes have adjusted to the light a little better now, and I can just about see his lips curl into one of his infamous lop-sided smiles, like the snake that he is;

'Or have I caught _you_, my dear?..' he says. His hand moves up from my neck, and slowly, one of his fingers starts to stroke my cheek ever so slightly. Again, I would flee, but he keeps me in place by holding his body against me. '…I see we're back at the whole 'Spider' concept again'

Before I can stop myself, I've retaliated;

'Yeah, I hope you realise what I'd be like if I was a black widow…'

'That can be arranged…' he sneers, whipping back his hand. 'I'm sure that boyfriend of yours would slice up very nicely…'

He smiles, almost like he has found a worthy opponent. But then, I know him better than that, and when he replies, he turns his sarcasm on and starts to look hurt at my words;

'What's the matter, sweetheart? I thought we had fun last time?'

'Fun?! You think I liked you constantly stalking me?'

'Of course… But then you had to ruin it, didn't you?' he says, changing his tone into one that I can only associate with one other person. Then, it changes once again into a softer, calmer, and quieter one, as he starts to caress my cheek again; 'It could have been truly beautiful, my dear; I could have given you anything you wanted, I'd have wrapped you in silk every night, nothing more for you to worry about, you could have just forgot that sap of a boyfriend…' Then he starts to trail off.

He must have realised that I'm trying not to listen, because he suddenly taps the side of my face hard with his finger. It doesn't hurt, but it's certainly a shock, and once again, he has my attention. Before I can do anything else, he quickly traps that attention;

'You do realise that he was cheating on you, right?' he smirks.

I turn my head away from him, in hopes of getting the chance to ignore him.

'Then maybe I shouldn't have cooked your rapist, seeing as how you obviously weren't getting any…'

Enough is enough; I push him away and take a swing at him. Unfortunately (yet predictably), he has already anticipated it, and dodges out of the way. As I'm faced the other way (even if only for a second), he takes that arm and twists it behind my back. I cry out in pain as he pulls me into him again.

'Don't fight me' he whispers into my ear. 'It's not worth it…'

I take in a large breath.

'And for the record; no, those folks over there _aren't _mannequins- they're the real thing' he finishes.

My eyes are wide with fear, and he knows it. I continue to stare at the scene before me; the decomposing family sitting at their dinner table, the single lit lamp, and his silent breath on my neck as he holds me in place.

'All you had to do was cooperate…' he tells me. 'Then you wouldn't be in this little mess'

'What, and let you carve me up like those other girls?' I reply bitterly.

'Just a leg!' he argues.

''Just a leg'? And then what? Let me bleed to death?'

'I thought your middle name was Ethyl, anyway?' I chuckles.

I can't really reply to that. Great, I'm stuck in a room full of dead bodies and a psychopathic killer who has just admitted that he would consider necrophilia if I was one of his victims…

He slowly releases my arm and moves his own to my waist, preventing any other means of escape for me. Then, with his other hand, he takes my left, brings it to his lips, and plants a soft kiss to its upper side;

'…and I mean every bit of that'

Though I know it's wrong, I can't help but notice a tiny bit of my fear falling away from me. The rooms overall atmosphere is calmer now, and though I shouldn't, I can feel myself giving in to it. Even with the arachnophilliac psychopath behind me. The silence of the room is uneasy, and if I know him as well as I do, I know that he likes to play on that. So, I make the first move;

'If you wanted to kill me that badly, why didn't you?' I ask. And it really is a serious question. After all those days of stalking me, and all those nights trying to catch me, in the end, he just… let me go…

…Why?

'I never said anything about wanting to kill you…' he answers. 'In fact, death was merely the side effect of my aim, not the actual goal'

'…So you would have quite happily just chopped their legs off and let them all go?'

'Of course! What do you take me for?' he smiles.

It provides little comfort, but moments later, he lets me go and walks over to the table. He pulls out the remaining chair and sits down, facing me. He stares at me for a few minutes, before telling me to sit down. Not knowing what his intentions are at this point, I slowly walk over to him. However, the fact that there isn't a spare chair makes me stand around for a few seconds, before he remedies my dilemma;

'Sit' he says, pointing to the floor. It isn't dirty or anything, and I'm still in fear for my own life, so I do as I'm told. I kneel down in front of him and wait for the next thing to happen. That 'thing' is done by him - he reaches inside his jacket and takes out a knife. Then, with the flair of a true artist, flicks it open using one hand. He's sitting in a more relaxed way now, much like he would if he was sitting on his own personal throne, and there's me on the floor, on the edge of _my_ 'seat'. Then he starts to speak again;

'We have two ways to go about this; either you go away with a limb missing… or you convince me otherwise…'

I almost wince at the thought; I hate this game, and whatever happens, he wins. The worst part is, he's deadly serious - either I give in to his sick little demands, or… I give in to his other sick… somewhat larger (I assume) demands…

I'm taking a little longer to decide than he had possibly hoped, so this may be the cause for him standing up and lifting me up by the hair. I grab at his wrists as a means of escaping the pain, but he just pulls harder. When I'm eventually stood upright, I take a moment to regain myself, but he takes the opportunity to shove me against the nearest wall. Again, I'm pinned to it, and can't move even in the slightest (though that doesn't mean I don't try to). As soon as I break one of my arms free, I begin to pound at him with my fists, trying everything to push him away. However, he continues to hold me tightly, and moments later, he has gained complete control over the whole situation again. He grabs my free arms wrist and forces it back against the wall, before pressing his lips tightly against my own. It feels like he's trying to crush them, and I try to move away again. Like the other times, however, my efforts are in vain, and it only serves as encouragement to him as he starts to force his tongue into my mouth. I try not to let him in, but this is one kiss that he completely controls, and soon, I'm held helpless against him. His tongue starts to massage my own, and I soon find myself unable to do anything but succumb to him. I close my eyes, wishing that I was somewhere (anywhere) else, and every now and again, he tugs on my bottom lip with his teeth, sucking and chewing on it. Before I can stop myself, I've gotten used to it and breathe out a single sigh. The one good thing about this is that I haven't actually done anything myself.

I hear a faint click of metal, and as quickly as the sound had come, I feel a sharp sting across the top of my right breast. He immediately pulls away, and I hunch over in pain, pulling my arm across the sting. When I look down, I see blood.

'Your choice…' he clearly states.

He isn't kidding.

I look up at him; so many emotions are rushing about through my head. I'm in pain, I'm angry at him, I'm terrified… God, is there _any_ way out of this besides those two options? But he's right; it _is_ my choice. So what's it going to be? Do I have him sever my leg and possibly bleed to death? Do I go with the other choice and… have him do _that_ to me? Then I start to wonder; what would he do to me exactly? What would he have _me_ do? My fear intensifies as I start to wonder…

'Well?' He asks, obviously getting impatient. 'Or do I choose for you?'

To be perfectly honest, I don't care either way who does, because in the end, I'll be wishing that we'd have gone with the other option. Although he's very good at disguising it, I can still see the faintest hint of lust in those bright blue eyes of his, whether it be sexual lust or simply bloodlust (I can't tell which, possibly both). Whichever way it goes, he will get what he wants, because… he always does. Apart from that last time that we met, when he decided to simply let me go…

He's moving about again, going about lighting his match again and lighting every other lamp in the room. I watch him as he makes his way around, just as silently as he was before. When he finishes, I see him pull out a fresh match and light it. He then goes over to the nearest shelf and lights the short incense stick that is sitting in its holder. The flame takes a while to get going, flailing about like it also wants to escape, so every now and again, he cups it with his hands and gently blows. Before long, it stays alight. Then, he turns back to me and asks how my decision-making is going. As I begin to answer, I stutter, so he goes for his pocket once again. Thinking that he's going to pull out his knife, I move over into the nearest corner (probably not my smartest move). What he pulls out, however, are two stones. O…kay… He then holds them out to me;

'Number one, number two' he says, naming each one. 'Each one is an option; now pick…'

So we're back at the same question again. Great. I turn my head away, because this is going to be a completely random choice. I'm just hoping I choose the better of the two. But then, it's a choice between certain death, or rape by a psychopath, both making an incredibly negative impact on my life. I always said that I'd die before I let another man force himself onto me, but now… I'm not so sure… As I turn my head, eyes tightly shut and arm stretched out before me, I suddenly inhale the sweet scent of the incense. Immediately, I realise that it was lit for a purpose, because I feel myself… relaxing? I'm not feeling woozy or anything, but he's certainly not playing fair. My hand drops like a dead weight, and I feel it catch one of the smooth stones. The hand then falls to the ground as he takes the stones away and examines them;

'Number two… Ah well, I guess I had enough fun with those other ones today, don't you agree?' he asks, gesturing at the bodies at the table. I start to feel sick again at the thought of whatever he did to them, so I turn my head away.

He kneels down in front of me and takes both sides of my face in his hands, turning me towards him. He then leans forward slightly and starts kissing me again, though this time, more gently and… more pleasantly, I guess. However, just like the last time, I'm still in a slight state of shock, and I don't move a muscle; I don't kiss him back, nothing. When he pulls away, I see a little uncertainty in his eyes. Fear shoots through me again as he once again pulls out his knife;

'Y'know, this is really boring. I'd feel a lot better if we'd go with the other option…' he sneers, moving it towards me.

With that, I cry out a 'No!', push him down to the ground, and quickly start kissing him; anything to stop him. If I don't, then what will? The incense must have worn off, because I start to fear for my life again.

So let's look at the scene again; here we are, in the middle of some small Japanese-esque village. Just next door to us is a criminal cooking slowly in a frying pan, and in this house here, I'm furiously making out with a murderer in a desperate plea to get him to not kill me for his own twisted obsessions. The room is softly lit by burning lamps, and there is a five-piece family of corpses sitting at their dining table, watching us.

He turns us over so that he's on top, and I cry out a squeak of surprise. Then, he starts to kiss me again, and I start to fall victim to the incense once again, letting all my tension go and relaxing as he continues to indulge me in his kisses. However, I start to tense up again as he moves down to my neck, obviously with intentions other than just canoodling with me. He seems to have noticed, and opens his knife, this time, holding it to my throat. He has my arms pinned above my head with his other hand, so I'm unable to stop him. He holds his blade very close to my jugular, increasing the pressure of it ever so slowly. I soon find myself begging for my life, obviously to the delight of my captor;

'Please…' I sob. '…I'll do anything… just don't…'

'Don't what?' he asks, looming over me like a lion to his dinner. He smiles sadistically.

'…that… Don't do that…' I choke, referring to anything that could possibly harm me physically.

It's then that I realise what I've just said; I've walked right into his trap.

'Anything?' he enquires, his smile becoming wider by the second.

I don't answer, mainly out of fear that I'll say something even more stupid. Right now, I'm wishing that I'm stuck in some kind of nightmare, and that I'll wake up very soon. Unfortunately, no such thing happens, and I soon find myself in the same position as I was in before; helpless and simply sitting there, waiting for whatever he chooses to do to me.

He pulls me up towards him. He then goes back to my neck, and I make myself go limp against him, trying to become numb to everything. That 'numbing' only works so well, and seems to be avoiding my neck completely. I can feel his soft lips press gently across my flesh, leaving trails of pleasurable sensations everywhere that they've been. He's not hurting me or anything, rather the opposite, being as gentle as any perfectly sane lover would. The only difference is that when he doesn't get what he wants, his killer instinct kicks in. I start to feel one of my arms raise and hook round his neck. This spurs him on, and I feel him start to bite down gently on my neck. The feeling is incredible, and I breathe out of sigh of pleasure. It's then that he lays me down softly onto the floor once more.

He moves back up to my mouth, kissing softly and sensually. I start to return his kisses (after all, what else can I do?), and I feel his lips curl back into a satisfied smile. I must be the incense in the air doing it to me, but I start to relax again and… I'm now starting to enjoy it. Even though this is the man who stalked me for around a week, following me and creeping into my bedroom at night just to watch me sleep, and then almost hacking off one of my legs so that he can build a spider (…), I can't help myself. After all, wasn't he the one that decided to let me go last time? I'm cut away from my thoughts when I hear his knife clatter to the ground, and feel his hand slowly making its way down to the opening of my shirt. He slips it underneath the material and starts to crawl its way up my stomach. Although I wouldn't mind it under normal circumstances, the leather of his gloves proves slightly too uncomfortable for my liking, so I make a move for it and take it off his hand.

Bad move.

This only serves as more encouragement for him, and taking it as permission, he starts to undo said shirt. He makes short work of the buttons and has soon taken it off of me. He slithers out of his own jacket, followed shortly by his other glove. I watch him, as I notice the room darkening ever so slightly. When I turn to look, I see that the incense has burnt down to a smouldering pile of ash. Taking me by surprise, he grabs the back of my head and pulls me towards him once again. Trying to be a good girl for him, I go for his neck, while he starts to unhook my bra (something he finishes as quickly as he started). His undoing hand starts to wander across the top half of my body, fingertips grazing across the skin, and every now and again, stopping to toy with my nipples. His other hand makes its way to my legs, stroking them, moving to my thighs, and back again. I suddenly get the strange urge to pay him back for everything earlier, but all that I can think of at that precise moment is to bite him…hard. He lets out a moan of pain, and I'm suddenly satisfied with myself. I smile triumphantly, even though my moment is short-lived;

'So you wanna play like that, huh?' he asks.

He pushes me back to the ground, and he falls down with me. Leaning over me, he pushes another forceful kiss to my lips, and before I can return anything, he moves to my neck, my chest, and then to the dip in my cleavage. My breath hitches in my throat as he starts to pull on each nipple in turn with his teeth, sucking and swirling his tongue around them. I throw my head back as he continues in his work, and even though I know that everything about it is wrong, I can't help but feel that I'm starting to really enjoy myself, and that maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all. Then I feel him smile again. He raises his head up slightly, and I can see that his sadistic smile has made its unwelcome return. He suddenly picks me up and carries me to another room (or more importantly, the basement).

When he sets me down, I realise that it's on a bed set for two… complete with the white silk sheets… Obviously he'd planned this, then…

I sit patiently as he goes through one of the cupboards on the wall. I hear something metallic, though not his knife for once, more like a jangle, more like chains… Then I hear him pick something else out, then another… The last thing that I hear him do before he walks back is the sound of liquid glugging out of a bottle. He sits down next to me, hands behind his back, and all of a sudden, I tense up again. He pulls one hand into view, and I see… handcuffs? Damnit, he _did_ plan for this! Reluctantly, I let him push me back so that I'm lying down. He puts the other objects down for a moment (which I can't see), and chains my hands to the black railings behind me. With a smile of satisfaction, he reaches behind him and pulls out of syringe full of liquid. I'm thankful that there isn't a needle, but all the same, what does he plan on doing with it? What if it's poison? What if he plans to kill me right here, right now? Was this his plan all along? My head is buzzing with fear and questions, all with answers that aren't there. He grabs the remaining object; sort of an off-white cloth attached to a small wire frame. He then fixes it to my head, right over my mouth and nose. He drops a few beads of the liquid onto the centre of the cloth. I try to fight whatever it is, but just like the incense, I've soon fallen under its influence. Of course- chloroform! I'm thankful that he has only put enough onto the cloth to make me feel slightly light-headed, but it doesn't leave me any less terrified of him.

After a few minutes, he removes the device from my face. I'm feeling hazy, but in a good way. He plants a quick kiss on my lips before sitting back up, at which point he removes his shirt and boots. The same goes for my shoes soon after, and all I can do is lay there. He looks me over, much like a doctor would a patient, obviously deciding what to do next. I'd probably care more about whether it would hurt me or not, but the chloroform is affecting me so much that I'm unable to hold any of those thoughts for more than a few seconds. Right now, all I care about is how good it feels, how relaxed I am. I don't care that he's on top of me again, don't care that he's… sliding down the zipper of my skirt… pulling it off me… I reach my body up and kiss him again, which he happily accepts. He's certainly got what he wants, and he's clearly pleased with himself. He unloops his belt from his pants and casts it aside, never breaking this all-too-wrong kiss that we now share. He starts to push his tongue back into my mouth, but this time, it neither gets bitten, nor do I try and keep it out. In fact, I'm quite willing for all of this.

I briefly cut through the fog of the drug, just long enough to analyse the situation. From hating this man, from fearing what he was capable of, to this; to him controlling me like this. From me just wanting to get the hell out of here, to me quite gladly getting intimate with him. I have no explanation for it other than the chloroform and incense. Damn him, I hate him so much! I'm not the type of girl that can handle her drugs particularly well, and he must have known it all along. I hate him, I want out, I want…

…

But that's the thing; what do I want? I _don't_ want out- I might hate him for every inch that he's worth, but… If I didn't want this, would he have just let me go? My hand was shaking so badly when I tried to open the door before… Was it actually locked? Could I have just left? Besides, by the looks of things, he knew that one way or another, we'd be here by the end of the night. And… I might hate him (how couldn't I?), but I still want him all the same. I now realise what was going on in my subconscious all those weeks back, back when he'd left me alone. I knew that my boyfriend was cheating on me, but I didn't do anything about it. I didn't confront him, I didn't just go out to find someone else, someone better… all because I had some blind hope that maybe, possibly, my dear arachnophilliac psychopath would come back. I never had any nightmares about him, quite the opposite in fact; those beautiful blue eyes, that wonderful raven-black hair… I was just too caught up trying to lead a 'normal' life that I refused myself to admit it. I also realise that if I _did_ want this to stop, what he was doing right now, I could just walk away from it all; the chloroform wasn't forcing me into anything, just… making it overall more enjoyable.

I needed this. However sick and twisted it may be, I genuinely needed, need, this.

I break away from my daydream. I stare at him, watching him as he continues with whatever he is now doing. All remains of his clothing have now been shed to the floor, just as mine have. He's now kissing my neck, his hair tickling my sensitive skin pleasantly. I start to run my fingers through his soft locks, and he smiles again.

'You knew all along, didn't you? I quietly ask him.

He looks up at me;

'And it took you all that time to figure it out?' he smirks cockily.

I have to agree with him.

'Let's just say, I haven't been myself recently…' I explain. I'm instantly silenced when he places one finger over my lips, hushing me. He then takes it away, replacing it with a soft kiss.

But it's true; I haven't been myself ever since I left home all those years ago, and whilst trying to live out the perfect home life, just like something out of a 'How To Be The Perfect Suburban Working Mom' booklet (or something like that). I'd been trying to kid myself that all I wanted was a good wholesome family life, complete with white-picket-fenced house in a nice friendly neighbourhood. In the end (or rather, now), I realised that I'll never be that type of person; I'm still a sucker for the bad boy-type.

Things start to move along a little; his lips hop from my mouth to the top of my chest, then my stomach to… lower regions. Chloroform or not, this is something that I intend to enjoy, and as soon as his hot tongue starts to gently explore me, I automatically throw my head back in pleasure. This isn't love; it's lust, but I really couldn't care less. Almost unconsciously, I lay both of my legs over his shoulders and he immediately responds by pushing his tongue deeper into me. I let out another lustful sigh, and pretty soon, he's found every inch and corner of me, giving the same care and attention to everything equally.

I find that the best sensations come when his tongue runs over my clit, flicking over it like some cat with his milk. My muscles alternately loosen and tighten. He must know how he's affecting me, because I can feel his wicked smile developing again. My chest is heaving, and not a moment too soon, I reach my orgasm. My back arches upwards, yet he continues in his pleasurable play until I'm spent. Oh, I _definitely_ needed this. Screw the boyfriend, screw the fact that I'm in bed with a murderer, screw the fact that I don't know where the hell I am… And speaking of which…

Suddenly, he's made his way back up to my level again. I hadn't even noticed that he'd replaced his tongue with his dick… though now you mention it… I'm soon aware of this fact even more as he starts to thrust into me deeper… Damnit, and he's not even half in yet… How the hell did I miss _that_ one? He starts off slowly, but after the first few thrusts…

Here comes the pain again; it's _his_ turn to thoroughly enjoy himself, and he drives into me as hard as he possibly can. I bite back any cries of pain, but he knows damn well what he's doing and… he's enjoying it… Pounding into me (what's the best word for it?) violently, grinding his hips briefly, before sliding back out as slowly and painfully as possible. I wouldn't mind betting that he's enjoying the expression on my face right now, but I really wouldn't know because I'm keeping my eyes shut as tightly as possible.

'Enough… please… just, enough…' I cry, after a few dozen hits. I open my eyes and have to blink back some tears.

'Aw, you're _crying_!' he pouts mockingly. He takes the sides of my face in his hands. His tone then changes for the worst; '…you know I don't react well to begging…'

I really don't know what to say. I shut my eyes again and brace myself for whatever he plans on doing next. I'm just hoping that it isn't anything that he's seen in any snuff movie…

I'm pleasantly surprised when I feel him start to unlock my hands. He takes them from the metal, and lifts me up into a sitting position. When I'm upright, he collapses onto the bed without me. I start to wonder what he's doing, but he soon lets me know when he grabs my hips, setting me down on top of him.

'Go on then…' he instructs. 'You don't like my way, you show me your way…'

I look at him for a moment. I never knew he had such a gorgeous figure (!). His hair fans out slightly on the pillow below him, and in this rare moment, he's actually waiting for _me_ to do something. For the first time that I've known him, he actually looks innocent for once; he's beautiful, he's there, he's all mine for tonight, yet why am I still sitting here?

I lay down next to him, and shift him so that he's on top of me again;

'I'm submissive, so sue me' I smirk. He smiles back, before softly kissing me again;

'I'm glad' he sighs. '… 'cos I'm not'

We go back to how we were before, though this time, he's a little more gentle. At this point in time, I feel like the luckiest woman on earth! Maybe my life has made a turnaround; from a failing and unsatisfying marriage, to this, a wonderful new love affair in which I'm getting everything I need. Why shouldn't I feel happy?

I feel him move slightly. Opening my eyes, I see his arm reaching for something on the table beside us. I can't see what it is, but that doesn't mean that I can't wait. What will it be this time? He's already used the chloroform and handcuffs… I close my eyes and smile with anticipation. All I know is that it sounds metallic.

It feels like forever as I wait for him… If you're gonna do it, just do it! Frustrated as I am however, I know that it will be worth my wait. Hey, if it's as good as the rest of the evening has been, why not?

I take in a deep breath, mainly to tell him to get on with it. But I don't breathe out. My lungs half-fill with air, and half-fill with… pain. Just a cold sharp pain. I open my eyes. Wide. This can't be good. I know what kind of stuff he's into, but jeez… I see him sit up, still on top of me, but with his hands below my breasts. I can't see what he's done, but it's not good.

I suddenly feel a wave of nausea, followed by a load of bile rushing up my throat… When it enters my mouth, I realise that it isn't bile…

It's blood.

I quickly sit up and hunch over, a lot like before. He takes whatever object it was away from my stomach, and I quickly fold my arms over where it hurts the most. I look down and realise that there's a large gaping wound that's spilling blood. I can't hold it any longer, and even though I try to stop it with my hand, more blood rushes from my mouth. More and more follows it, and soon, I'm sobbing, just wanting it to stop. The combination of vomiting blood, the pain from the wound, the fact that he could just do that, why?! It was stupid, I never should have trusted him, I knew what he was like, and that he would never change… It's just… pain… Make it stop!

As I look down, I see that the object that he had picked up was in fact, his knife. It looks at me, gleaming with fiendish shine, right up until I see the blood, _my_ blood, at its tip, dripping down onto the white silken bed sheets.

I want to ask him why, but I can't speak. Not from lose of words, but because the blood in my throat just won't give up! Besides, even if I _wasn't_ vomiting, the tears would prove too much for me anyway, and make the words come out as nothing but hiccups. So, I let my body do its work.

It only takes a few minutes to stop the blood and my crying. I'm sure that I should have passed out by now from blood loss, but I don't give it much thought. I calm myself, and soon, all that I'm doing is giving the occasional snivel.

He raises my head with a single bony finger;

'Now do you realise what kind of a person I am?' he asks, rather calmly for the situation.

I nod.

'But why?' I manage to say.

'No idea' he shrugs. 'It's just something I do…'

My eyes grow wider, mainly through sheer amazement at how flippantly he can just carve someone up like that. Disgust also comes into it.

He climbs back on top of me and pushes me back down so that I'm lying again. He starts to stroke my neck, and I'm wondering if his next move is to choke me! However, the expression on his face says otherwise, like he was just before he stabbed me. Then again, that could mean anything.

'Don't you remember?' he starts again.

I just look at him. _No I don't_, I'm thinking.

'Nothing?' he asks. 'Not even when I torched the place?'

_Again, no._

He smirks.

'I told you once, I've told you a thousand times; if I can't have you, then no one can…'

_Right, so you've given me a reason why you set my house on fire, but that doesn't explain what the hell you're up to now…_

'We're stuck in this hell for all eternity, so why not enjoy it?'

_Cryptic. Very, very cryptic, and I don't know whether you're referring to what you're doing, or what I should do…_

He places one of those crushing kisses onto my lips again. I grimace. Then his eyes start to wander over my body, before he starts talking again;

'You know my personal tastes, dear 'Regine'; why deny me them?'

_There's the thing; I DON'T know his personal tastes._

'What did I say before? About your middle name?'

_Ethyl?_

'Cold Ethyl?'

_Dear God, he wouldn't!_

'It's not like you can die here, or anything. Well, you _can_, but then we start over'

_Meaning?_

'You don't remember a thing, do you?' he grins, almost sympathetically.

_Nope._

'Next time, try, okay Sweety?'

_What's that supposed to mean?_

He sighs, then climbs back off of me. He goes to the table again and takes his knife. He cleans it with the sheets, before climbing back on top.

'Might as well make the most of it, right?'

…

He puts the blade to my throat, then draws it quickly across. I choke back a gasp. There's a slight stinging sensation, followed by more of my blood flowing out, but it passes almost instantly. He puts the knife back on the table, then settles himself between my legs.

'Ready?' he asks.

I'm failing fast, and I can't speak, even if I had something to say. He must have got turned on by hurting me because he's still rock hard, and no sooner had I finished that last train of thought, he starts to drive into me again. I'm hazy from the blood loss, and I can't think straight. Getting back to the previous question however, yes, he _would_ commit necrophilia, and with me. There's still the pain in my neck, but meh, if these are my last few moments, then why not enjoy them… Sweetheart, just give in to him, I say to myself (mentally, of course). And that's exactly what I do.

I wince at the pain as the sharp shingle on the ground threatens to slice through the thin soles of my shoes.

The air around me is cold and misty, but it still chokes my lungs as if it was humid. I'm alone and lost, wandering aimlessly through a deserted street which I haven't seen before. Everything around me is alien; the sights, the smells, the overall atmosphere…

I look around. It's like I've been plucked out of my busy and familiar city, and then put into a Japanese fairytale that only Anne Rice could have written. There are a few small houses planted on the sides of the street, all with their doors and windows closed. Dark puddles dot the road like shadowy footprints, and in the far distance, I can see fields full of vegetation (which, on closer inspection, are mainly all dead). The sky looms above as murky and menacingly as it would if it was a tank of septic acid, just waiting to tip down on any unsuspecting victims that cross its path. Two main things stick out to me, however. The first is how ominous the silence is, when surely there should be at least a little noise from the people inside the buildings. The other is the overpowering stench that coats the village around me. The only way to describe it would be…well, rotting; it's the same smell that would come from month-old road kill, the same that acts as a tempting dinner invitation for flies and their maggots alike…

**A/N:**** And so, the eventual demise of Lisa Henrietta Reisert. Clearly I've been listening to way too much Alice Cooper (hey, going to his concerts can do that to a person…), but what the hell! I really should have waited until I completed 'Balance' before putting this up, but I personally think that this is one of my best pieces. I do hope you've enjoyed this little nightmare, and I plan to do more of them (just like I did with 'Perfume'). Please R&R, and tell me if I went a bit over the top with this, but I've been away for so long that I just wanted to do something to tell you all that I'm still well and alive lol! **

**List Of Alice Cooper Songs That You Need To Read The Lyrics/ Listen To Before Understanding The Story:**

**-I Love The Dead (from Billion Dollar Babies) (basically about his 'other' uses for corpses)**

**-Cold Ethyl (from Welcome To My Nightmare) (about one of those corpses in particular)**

**-DragonTown (from the album with the same name) (about a place called Dragontown)**

**-Gimme (from Brutal Planet) about how he could give a person all they desire (not in THAT way…)**

**-It's The Little Things (from Brutal Planet) (about how you can stab him all you want, but if you talk in the movies, he'll kill you right there)**

**-Pretty much all of Along Came A Spider (or at least find out its concept) (which is about a serial killer named Spider hacking a leg off of each of his victims to build his own spider, but falls in love with the 8****th****)**


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